These walks will be the death of me

So as you may recall I was recently told by some quack veterinarian that I needed to lose weight because I am too fat. Well, I happen to think that Czechoslovakian vets are not the foremost authority on beautiful voluptuous basset hound ladies, but mom and dad have taken her words to heart and are making us all exercise.

By going on walks. Now normally walks are great fun - you can stroll around town at your leisure, sniff all the interesting smells, terrorize geese and squirrels and bunnies, work on your basset tan, pick up scraps of goodies off the ground (when your slave-driving human isn't yanking on your leash), get lovins' from people who walk by, and fraternize with the dogs in the neighborhood.

But these new walks are terrible. We live in Missouri, which evidently had some mountains installed since I learned my basset geography, because our walks are less about basset enjoyment and more about basset exhaustion. Up and down hills, no getting to smell the neighbor's yard, no playing with other puppies in the area (everyone has dogs with fences and they are all barky and mean-sounding), the dead of summer heat, and conflicting human commands ('keep walking' vs. 'quit pulling - make up your MINDS).

But mom is relentless. The other day she practically dragged me home. I wish they would take us to the dog park so I could snooze in the sun and play with some other dogs at my own leisure, instead of being walked until my stumpy feet are sore. And not getting to stop and smell things is just cruel - a waste of a perfectly good hound nose. Of course sometimes the walks end with a good treat (we got Frosty Paws yesterday), but other times we only get to come in and run up a flight of stairs to get to our water. Stupid split-level house.

Here is a pictorial example of how to treat your basset hound, humans.

The right way - look at how happy the person and the hound both are

The wrong way - this hound is on the brink of death!